


Gods' Garden

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [31]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Child Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: In the wake of a strange disappearance, a man find himself caught in a battle older than time itself. Rhaegar Targaryen's hope was to find a lost babe, yet his path brings him to another discovery altogether and like the humans of old, fallen from grace once the veil of innocence is torn off, he finds he must fight for there to be any chance of survival. But that he can not do alone; and in such trying times the mercy of the gods can only be measure by the viciousness of the devils.The North is her home, with all its harshness and unrepentant brutality, she owes it her loyalty, or so Lyanna Stark tells herself even as the evidence piles before her that what she thought unrelated acts of monstrous evil are in fact very much tied together. As above, so below, the saying goes. But such a discovery she cannot withstand on her own. Old tales to guide her and a steady arm for support, she can only understand the cruelty of the enemy by the grace of the gods.Somewhere in the middle comes the realisation that there is nothing quite as extraordinary as the perfectly ordinary any sacrifice leads towards.AU! Man is clever. Man is versatile. And most of all - man endures.





	Gods' Garden

_“For this is what it means to be a king: to be first in every desperate attack and last in every desperate retreat, and when there’s hunger in the land (as must be now and then in bad years) to wear finer clothes and laugh louder over a scantier meal than any man in your land.” –C.S. Lewis_

A plume of smoke drifted upon the evening breeze. It twined its way towards the growing bruise of darkness stretching over light pinks and bright splashes of gold covering the canvas above, swirling and curling as it went. It disintegrated, blown apart easily, leaving behind but a faint unpleasant odour. Another followed the same path soon enough, sent to its demise from the tip of a burning cigar. It was not one of those thick-bodied specimens filling its binder and wrapper to the brim, but rather resembled the more elegant cigarette come to prominence just within the past few decades. It retained the soft earthy brown colouring of earlier versions, but for its very tip which was burning a bright orange edged with shades of red and black flecks. The fragile body moved infinitesimally, dangling from between a pair of long, slender fingers. It was, in fact, those very fingers moving the cigar which were attached to sizable hand, itself, in turn, making up a well-formed limb along with a strong arm. The rest of the body belonged to a tall man whose eyes were studying the cigar in his grasp. 

Dark eyes, clear and focuses, neatly placed within the expanse of a handsome, if somewhat pale face. In spite of the pallor, the man presented the world with a pleasing form. He leaned into the car door at his back ever so slightly. The vehicle, a sturdy affair of dark colouring and straight lines, had the door on the other side open, the driver's seat visible should one step close enough for a thorough inspection. The trees lining the path would, however, blocked the view of one too far away. The trees, tall sentinels that had withstood the abuse of passing centuries, judging by the thickness of some, stretched in uneven rows as far as the eye could see. Behind the sentinels movements flashed. Colour and sound seeped into the ribbon of road, pulling at the lone smoker's attention. 

"Well?" The newcomer was wiping his hands on a smudged rag."What do you think?" He paused before the open door, peering within the automobile. A grunt with the distinct air of triumph followed.

“I was expecting something else.” That was an honest answer. The foil and tobacco ignited; another puff of smoke ascended. Rhaegar took another drag, staring back at his boon companion with slight confusion. “I fail to see how they help.” He continued to smoke nevertheless. He’d be done soon.

Abandoning the inside of the car for the time being, Arthur shook his head. “I never claimed they helped.” He frowned. “Just that they pass the time.” Time; an infuriating notion, it would seem. Arthur sighed audibly, staring up at the dimming light. “I’m at my wit’s end here. I’ve tried everything.” A pause followed. “Everything,” Arthur stressed, running his fingers through his hair. “Short of forcing her hand, I do not see an alternative.”

“That bad, is it?” His friend made no comment to that beside a narrowing of his eyes. The glare did not affect Rhaegar who had long since grown used to such sharp glances. Particularly when he stepped on toes better left unmolested. “Perhaps you should simply accept then that Jaime was right about this.”

Stunned silence reigned supreme all too briefly before a stinging curse shattered its dominance. “I’ll have to take this to my brother.”

“He’s not an unfair man. After all, Ashara might have dug herself a deeper hole had you not been there to prevent it. As is, it can yet be blamed on youthful exuberance.” At least those most concerned would believe it, in any event. Ashara was lively by nature, not design and he suspected much of the outcome was due to a mistaken belief of the precise contrary notion.

“Tell that to my sister.” It was apparent that the siblings had much to discuss; an endeavour Rhaegar much doubted he might be of any aid in. Thus he shrugged back at his friend, electing instead to get in the passenger’s seat. The door he left wide open still.

“At least the matter is at an end.” Which was just as well, he’d grown bored with the commotion and could safely say he did not regret the blood spilled in the least. “I don’t suppose you learned anything else.” He picked up the bloodstained rag and tossed it behind onto the backseat.

“I learned quite a bit,” Arthur replied, having joined him within. “None of it very useful unless you’ve suddenly become a betting man” A grin followed, as one man stared at the other expectantly. Rhaegar lifted one eyebrow in obvious disbelief. “Didn’t think so.”

“Or perhaps you’ve grown soft,” Rhaegar shot back, closing the door after he’d thrown what little remained of his cigar away. The loud slam of the door gave him a vague impression of Arthur’s thoughts upon the matter. Rhaegar pushed no further. “She’s welcome to stay with us, you know? My mother could use the company.”

“If someone categorically forbade you from seeing another, would you simply give in?” The engine roared to life. “She thinks she’s safe, and to be entirely fair, I can’t blame her. I too would think myself invulnerable in her place.”

“Let her have at it then.” The outcome was clear enough. And extricating her from the situation would not be that much more difficult, all things considered; “Estermont is not a threat, not really.” An inconvenience, to be certain. But the Baratheons knew to keep their men from making too much noise.

“Well, she’s not your sister.” He knew that tone. Rhaegar frowned.

“I grew up with her too,” he countered gently.

“All the same, she isn’t your sister.” He found himself nodding. There was no use in denying that much. “So how can you know how much of a threat Estermont is?”

They lapsed into silence. Rhaegar considered his friend’s words. His only sibling was a brother younger by many years; he doubted he’d ever feel anywhere near as close to Viserys as Arthur did to his sister. All the same, he could understand a brother’s concern and he wished Ashara well as much as her siblings. Nevertheless he said nothing of the sort; it could hardly help.

The drive was fairly fast. They reached his residence quite before the hour was past and made their way within. Awaiting their return was a somewhat dour-faced Richard. Lonmouth expression could only mean one thing. And he wasted no time in catching them up to speed. “Rosby is poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Again.” Rhaegar took a seat, leaned back as he regarded Richard with some expectation of clarification. “He’s been bringing his men out with annoying persistence lately. I told him to back off, but it seems he is unwilling to understand.”

“What does he want?” Arthur demanded, his impatience reaching boiling point. Rhaegar merely smiled at that and trained his attention on Richard yet again.

“He’s looking for something, that I can tell you. As to what that is, the man was extremely reluctant to give anything away. I did manage to learn from one of his men that he’s looking for a child. He wanted to buy one off of one of Baelish’s girls.” That Rhaegar had not expected.

“Perhaps Rosby needs to be reminded of his place.” The words lingered between the three of them.

“It doesn’t sound like Rosby.” 

The door opened, allowing one Jaime Lannister inside. “Because it isn’t what you think it is.”

“Listening at doors is beneath you,” Arthur commented, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You Dornishmen and your jumping to conclusions.” Jaime chuckled, moving around Rhaegar rather than approach Arthur. “Aunt Genna heard it from that husband of hers; Rosby is helping Blackwoods out.”

“Blackwoods?” The old families generally gave aid when the situation called for it, especially when it was one of their own that was in trouble. Still and all, if Jaime took an interest it could mean only one thing; Tywin wanted to get to the bottom of the matter. “Why didn’t they come to us?”

“Beats me? Must’ve thought we wouldn’t bother, what with the issue arising in the North of all places.” Arthur groaned, no doubt recalling their last stint in those frozen lands. To be fair, they might have done better to wait for the spring thaw. Jaime continued, “Taena’s boy seems to have gone missing; the local Northerner enforcers didn’t see the urgency in it and despite the Night’s Watch aid, the poor tyke remains missing.”

“Is there a reason why we shouldn’t get involved?” Rhaegar questioned, making a mental note to look into Taena Blackwood.

“Besides the fact that it’s full-blow winter in the North?” the Lion’s son asked, a grin on his lips. “Not a one as far as I can tell; but then it helps that I don’t know much about the place, I imagine.” He pulled out a golden pocket watch, presumably to gauge the time, if not the length of his stay. “Luckily for Taena, she took one of my cousins with her on this little trip of hers. One of the brighter ones, according to my aunt. You should have little trouble obtaining intelligible information out of her.”

* * *

The parlour, a well kept room decorated in soft shades. Made bright and cheery by light from without, embraced its visitors, offering seats and refreshments and most importantly of all a young woman of particular interest. Tyta Frey, some manner of kin with the ever inquisitive Rosby, was sitting before them, an uncomfortable look upon her face. Her frown remained constant throughout the expository stream of words leaving her lips as she detailed her stay with Taena Blackwood. “Honestly, I haven’t the faintest how this could have possibly happened. It feels like I was gone for but a moment and I returned to a nightmare.”

“That is a very detailed account, Miss Frey,” Rhaegar offered, more to set her at ease than anything else. He couldn’t properly gauge her reactions if she was constantly jumping out of her seat ever single time one of them as much as breathed. “Think back on the evening; is there truly nothing that caught your attention? No one suspicious about?”

A short pause followed. “Not at all. Not that I could tell in any event.” Her fingers picked at folds of her tea dress, twisting flower patterns into a whirl before untwisting them, repeating the process a few times before she caught herself and brushed a hand over the abused material as though she could straighten them out. “I wish I could help more.”

“Not at all, miss. The facts are what’s important to us,” Richard spoke, his easier rapport with the girl apparent by the ease with which her eyes latched onto him. “But if you recall anything, do let us know.” The interview was at an end, Rhaegar supposed, looking towards Arthur to see whether the man had anything to add.

Yet Arthur stared at the girl with something akin to disappointment even as he climbed to his feet. “I am certain Miss Frey must have some other plans for the day,” the Dornishman said. “And we had best be on our way as well.” The girl bit her lower lip, visibly relieved. She was a poor mummer, made pooer still, he imagined, by weak nerves.

Rhaegar agreed in the end, standing as well. “If you remember anything, do not hesitate to let us know. Jaime will be glad to carry any message for you, I am certain.” Jaime, who until that point had been in silent conversation with his aunt, looked up and affirmed as much. Genna, chaperone extraordinaire, saw her cue well enough to plough ahead into a spat of pleasantries as she diffused what remained of the tension within the room.

It was, all in all, a most informative exchange, for even if the young Tyta Frey had been lying through her teeth, she had done so in an obvious enough manner that it became clear his exploration of Taena Blackwood would need to be more thorough if he hoped to progress any further than he had.

“That girl is either very brave or very stupid.” Arthur’s comment drew Richard’s attention as they walked down the street, the gloomy skies above them threatening to release the downpour at any moment. “And a poor liar.”

“She’s frightened,” Jaime countered. “Or were you struck so severely by her charm that your wits were addled? Yes, I noticed,” the younger man assured them with a cool smile, “I tend to notice when it concerns my family.” The smile collapsed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Arthur asked back softly. Rhaegar looked from one to the other. It had been a tad unexpected to see his closest friend so affected by a mere slip of a girl, though with Arthur such was not completely foreign an occurrence; and he had the scars to prove it.

“I don’t know the girl half as well as I should like to and I certainly don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. Don’t you go giving her the impression she’ll encounter even a bit of mercy if this is some manner of plot.” This from the man who’d defended her but a moment past. Rhaegar expressed his surprise. “Just because I like her doesn’t make her less of a Frey. Besides, my aunt would never let you get away with it.”

The mood eased. “She’d have to catch me first.” But then Jaime was right about one thing, Miss Frey was not the type of girl one approached for fun. Rhaegar felt a moment’s worry at the determined glint in his friend’s eyes but did not caution him against such a course of action. He could simply be teasing the Lion’s get.

“Trust me. That woman can smell an affair from miles away.” Jaime’s boast was not without merit. In Rhaegar’s experience, many a woman could. It was in their interest, after all. He looked away from the duo just in time to catch a glimpse of figure hurriedly darting in the narrow space between two houses. It was not long that he had her in sight, but it was enough for him to figure out just who it was that tailed them. He continued walking nevertheless, making certain to guide his companions through the safest areas in spite of his desire to arrive home as early as possible.

It was Richard that made the observation in the end, asking as to his goal. To betray or not to betray the woman’s presence? He chose the latter. “I felt like a walk.” And like a test, he issued silently; he had to admit that he’d thought she would abandon her course before long. To see her still following when they reached the small park that was to serve as break up point for the group was unexpected. Once his companions went each their own way, he found a relatively deserted spot with a fortuitously placed bench and sat down, waiting.

His patience, such as it was, was rewarded in the end. The shuffling of feet and rustling of skirts was followed by a tiny figure joining him. The same floral pattern of a familiar tea dress greeted his peripheral vision. A bird twittered somewhere above, the song soaring to the high heavens.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Her words cut through the song. The bird, not bothered by the rude interruption, carried on. Another joined, their duet not resembling the rather poor parlay below.

“I assumed I did not need to.” She sighed, her voice carrying. “But if you wish me to; what is it that you left out?”

“She bought poppy dust.” Rhaegar produced a thoughtful sound. “I assumed she was not using it anymore, and yet,” she trailed off. “I left her alone with the child. I knew she would take whatever concoction she could manage to make and yet I left her to it.” He didn’t ask why. It hardly mattered. “When I returned she was lying on the floor and the child was nowhere to be found.” Tyta’s voice quivered.

“The door?” As long as he kept her from weeping and extracted more information, he would be reaching his goal. There was no reply for a moment. “You followed us, Miss Frey. And you may stand and leave whenever you so wish.”

“But,” she pressed, granting some credence to her kin’s earlier words.

“I will, of course, assume you’ve something to hide.” He finally looked at her. He looked her in the eye. “The most efficient strategy when in doubt, Miss Frey, is to eliminate all danger.” A gust of wind blew past them tugging at a few strand of hair. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, mouth slightly open. Rhaegar leaned in. “By all means, think of it as saving yourself.”

“I don’t believe it was forced, for what that’s worth. Whoever it was, she let them in of her own volition and closed the door when they left. I have the spare keys.” She pulled something out of her pocket, a small ring of keys. They were pressed into his hand. “I do not know if you will find anything useful in there now.” He pocketed her offering. Better late than never. “I just – I can’t get it out of my head, how frightened he had to have been.”

He stood, leaving the young woman sitting. “Wait a few more minutes before going back.” Rhaegar divested of his coat and passed it to her. She hesitated to accept. “We’ve come aways from your home.”

“Jaime would not ask too many questions if I showed up on his doorstep. Genna will not be too cross either.” A few years ago, Rhaegar supposed not. He wondered at the wisdom of pointing out as much to her, but then figured she must have known. She placed the coat upon her shoulders, wrapping herself in the thick folds to ward off the chill.

Rhaegar helped her up. “If you think it best.” She nodded, her expression still somewhat unsure. It was the best he would get out of her, of course, thus he nodded back, hoping it would be enough to bolster her through the short journey to her kin’s door.

And then he left her there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you get after a wild night of plotting with your friend while gushing over Steampunk fashion...^ this, obvs.
> 
> I won't pretend the story's any good or that the summary makes sense, but take it for what it is. You might have fun.


End file.
